Vanessa’s knife clattered against her plate, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy silence in the dining room. She leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine lazily. “Well,” she began, her voice sharp and dripping with sarcasm, “since no one else seems interested in breaking the ice, I’ll go first. Michael drags us all back to this island. Are we really not going to talk about why we’re here?”
The others exchanged glances but said nothing.
Vanessa smirked, her gaze zeroing in on Marcus. “You’re awfully quiet, Marcus. Shouldn’t you be leading the charge? You were always Eleanor’s knight in shining armor.”
Marcus set his glass down with a controlled precision that betrayed his irritation. “We don’t need to talk about Eleanor,” he said firmly, his voice low.
“Oh, don’t we?” Vanessa shot back, arching a brow. “I’d say she’s the reason we’re all here.”
“Enough,” Marcus snapped, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “This isn’t some twisted game, Vanessa. Michael wants answers, and so do I.”
Dean let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair as he twirled a cigarette between his fingers. “Oh, come on, Marcus. Don’t pretend you’re here out of the goodness of your heart. None of us are. You think you’re the only one who wants answers?”
“Some of us want them more than others,” Sophia said lightly, though her fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her wineglass. Her bright tone didn’t quite mask the unease in her eyes. “I mean, let’s face it, Michael didn’t invite us here for fun. He thinks someone here knows something about Eleanor.”
“And maybe he’s right,” Vanessa said, her lips curving into a sly smile.
Helen, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, her tone calm but commanding.
“Enough of this nonsense. We all knew Eleanor in different ways, but none of us came here to throw accusations around like children. If Michael brought us here, it’s because he thinks one of us holds the key to what happened. The sooner we figure out what that is, the sooner we can leave.”
The room fell into uneasy silence.
Sophia, always eager to fill a void, leaned forward with a bright smile. “Maybe we should just… start from the beginning. How did everyone know Eleanor? You know, for context.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Turn this into some kind of twisted reality show.”
“Why not?” Dean said with a grin, flicking his lighter absently. “We’re all here anyway. Might as well clear the air.” He leaned forward, his smirk widening. “I’ll go first.”
Dean’s grin faded slightly as he swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze distant. “Eleanor and I… we had a thing. A fling, really. Nothing serious. She liked to play games, and I liked the chase. But you know Eleanor—everything she did had an angle. I’m not saying I was just a pawn, but…” He shrugged, the smirk returning. “Well, maybe I was.”
Vanessa snorted. “You? A pawn? That’s generous. Eleanor barely noticed you unless she needed something.”
Dean shot her a look but didn’t argue.
Vanessa crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. “Since we’re sharing, let’s get something straight. Eleanor and I were friends once. Real friends. We traveled together, started a business together, and for a while, it worked. But Eleanor… she was always out for herself. She’d smile to your face while twisting the knife in your back.”
Sophia frowned. “What happened?”
Vanessa’s smirk thinned into something colder. “What always happens. She got greedy. Our business fell apart because of her, and I was left holding the bag. Millions, gone. So if Michael thinks I had anything to do with her disappearance, he’s barking up the wrong tree. But do I feel bad she’s gone? Not really.”
Marcus’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “That’s enough.”
Vanessa turned to him, her brows arching. “Oh, please, Marcus. Don’t act like you’re above all this. You were Eleanor’s knight in shining armor, weren’t you? Always so quick to defend her.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists. “Eleanor wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t a monster either. She was complicated. Vulnerable. She wasn’t happy, and she confided in me about things she couldn’t tell anyone else. I tried to help her. I wanted to protect her.”
“From Michael?” Dean asked, his tone laced with mockery.
Marcus glared at him, his voice sharp. “From everything.”
Sophia broke the silence that followed, her voice lighter, though her hands trembled slightly. “Eleanor was… kind to me. At least, I thought she was. She helped me get my start in social media, gave me opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise. But looking back… I don’t know. Maybe she just saw me as a way to make herself look good.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true fan.”
Sophia’s face reddened, but she said nothing.
Helen, who had been watching the others with a keen eye, spoke next. “Eleanor and I met long before any of you knew her. She was young, ambitious, and eager to climb the ladder. I taught her everything she needed to know about surviving in our world. And, like all protégés, she eventually decided she didn’t need me anymore. I wasn’t angry. I understood. Eleanor always outgrew the people around her. That was her way.”
Ivy, who had been silent until now, clutched her sketchpad tightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “She bought one of my paintings. It was the first big sale I ever made. She told me she believed in me, that she wanted to help me succeed.” Her hands trembled. “But later, I found out she only bought it to spite someone else. I don’t think she even liked my work. She just wanted to prove a point.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with tension.
Vanessa leaned forward, her smile sharp and humorless. “So we’re all agreed? Eleanor wasn’t exactly the saint Michael seems to think she was.”
“Watch your mouth,” Marcus growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Dean chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What’s the matter, Marcus? Still carrying a torch for her?”
Marcus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Say that again, and you’ll regret it.”
Before the argument could escalate, the lights flickered—and went out.
A scream tore through the darkness, sharp and bloodcurdling.
For a moment, no one moved.
“What the hell was that?” Sophia’s voice quivered, barely audible over the sound of the storm raging outside.
Dean grabbed the candelabra from the table, lighting it with shaking hands. The flickering flame cast long, eerie shadows on the walls.
“Everyone stay together,” Helen ordered, her voice firm despite the fear in her eyes.
The group moved as one, their footsteps echoing in the dark hallway. The scream had come from upstairs.
When they reached the room, the door was ajar, creaking slightly with each gust of wind.
Dean pushed it open with the candelabra, the flickering light spilling inside.
And there, sprawled across the bed in a grotesque, unnatural position, was a figure in a shimmering silver dress.
For a moment, no one moved.
“That’s impossible,” Vanessa whispered, her voice shaking. “Sophia, she was just with us.”
Sophia’s trembling voice came from the back of the group. “I… I’m right here.”
Dean stepped closer, holding the candle higher. The light revealed the truth. It wasn’t Sophia.
The lifeless body on the bed was the butler. His throat had been slit, and a blood-soaked silver shawl had been draped over him, likely to mislead them in the dim light.
“Oh my God,” Ivy gasped, stumbling back.
The flickering candlelight caught something on the floor, just beneath the bed. Marcus crouched down, his breath catching as the words became clear, scrawled in dark, drying blood:
“For Eleanor.”